Page 2 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 2

L ondon Society News:

He has returned.

If you need to ask to whom I am referring, I would recommend crawling into the sunlight from whatever dark corner you have hidden yourself. Of course, I am speaking of the illustrious Lord Peyton. By all accounts, his sudden arrival was unexpected. The question is:

How will Lady Emma react?

We are all watching.

Philip had hunted many. Criminals, lords, international spies. Yet never had the target been so personal.

Lady Emma stood across the ballroom, her cheeks flushed pink, her amber eyes alight with fiery expression. Her ruby red lips formed a perfect bow, and she clutched her skirt with tightened hands. She was wearing a pale blue dress that skimmed over generous curves, with a low-cut neckline revealing a porcelain décolleté.

For a moment they stared at each other, and the rest of the ballroom melted away. She displayed all the shock he hid, yet emotion lurked behind it: guilt, fear, challenge. He took a step.

She fled.

Something predatory surged to life within him, a hunter’s instincts demanding his prey’s capture. He strode as quickly as he dared, with enough subtlety to avoid a season’s worth of gossip. His longer legs gave him the advantage, eating up the distance as he trailed her through the ballroom and down one corridor and then another. She glanced back several times, her gaze hardening every time she saw him. She disappeared around a corner.

Now further from the crowd, he sprinted forward, yet when he turned the corner a moment later, only a long empty hallway greeted him. She was nowhere in sight.

Admiration and frustration rose in equal parts, as he swiftly studied the pathway and possible escape routes. She was smarter than some of the seasoned criminals he’d defeated, and just as sly. He’d always though Lady Emma pleasant, yet he didn’t really know her, mainly because she acted so shy around him. Now she impressed – and intrigued – him.

He could use someone like that in the field.

Of course, as a lady, she’d never be permitted to do something so dangerous.

He tried one door and then another, yet all were locked. That is, until he reached the last. He pushed through the carved wooden portal, entering a garden rife with color. Late evening sunlight slanted through willowy trees, casting long shadows on the grassy ground. The scent of nature filled his nostrils, from dozens of flowers blooming amidst lush leaves. He raced down a winding path, bordered by dark green hedges taller than even he could see. Then…

Rustling.

It was light and low, and possibly of natural means, yet instincts told him otherwise. He slunk on the dewy ground, past an array of gleaming goddess statues. The scent of jasmine surrounded him. There was no jasmine here…

Emma.

A sliver of blue flashed in the distance. “Got you,” he whispered. He moved quieter now, with deliberate yet quick movements. She was heading straight toward the lake, where a small boat bobbed up and down. Did she think to confound him by hiding on the boat until he gave up? She would learn he was not so easily deterred.

He glanced back at the home. Being caught together would be problematic, yet it was doubtful anyone would venture here, in the back of the gardens. It was a risk, but a small one. A worthwhile one. He crept along the side of the hedges, doing his best to blend in. Emma looked back a few times as she untied the rope, yet didn’t notice him.

Finally, she entered the boat, and grabbed the single oar. As she pushed it against the bank, he ran forward, reaching the edge just as the boat propelled away from the shore. Then…

He leapt.

Peyton dropped in.

Literally.

Emma screamed as something massive and powerful hurdled into the boat, materializing as if by sorcery. The craft tipped to one side, then back again, tilting like a child’s paper ship in a bathtub sea. Tumultuous waves overtook the calm water, rocking the craft and splashing frigid droplets on her arms. She grabbed the edges, fighting to center her weight even as an ominous crackling sounded from below.

That’s when Peyton took control.

Amber eyes pierced her, intelligent, focused, predatory . He flexed his muscles, his fit physique apparent even under the crisp suit. His chiseled face was as handsome as an artist’s masterpiece, the rich auburn hair perfectly in place. The ton thought she had ensnared him. Yet now he was poised to capture her.

She needed to get off the boat.

She glanced at the earl, back at the bank. It wasn’t that far. Bending her legs, she stepped forward to jump. Yet as she catapulted herself toward the craggy shore, perspectives shifted, and a seemingly near bank seemed miles away. She would never make it.

She might tip the boat just for trying.

She fought to abort the escape, pulling back, yet her upper body continued even as her feet slipped from under her. The water grew closer, closer…

Something captured her.

“I’ve got you.”

She gasped as hands grasped her waist, as muscular arms pulled her back against a solid chest. He usurped her senses, taking control as he held her securely in his arms.

Fiery heat streaked through her.

“Are you so desperate to get away from me, you’d jump into the lake?” he demanded. “You could have drowned!”

“I was going to jump to the bank!”

“You never would have made it. Stop moving or the boat will tip.”

As the boat shook once more, she forced herself to still, even as he held her tighter. His arms were solid and heavily muscled, his chest broad and hard, as held her firmly ensconced in his lap. She had never been so close to a man before, but now she was pressed against the muscular form of one of the most powerful lords of the ton . She remained motionless as he fought to stabilize the tiny craft, each and every iteration bringing her closer to him. Gradually the waters calmed, finally settling to a gentle rocking. Yet she’d never felt so unsettled.

This had to stop. As soon as the risk of tipping was gone, she pressed forward, yet he didn’t allow it. She struggled, yet it was like pushing against a stone wall.

He held her captive.

“Let me go,” she hissed. “It won’t tip.”

“It will if you move too quick. If I release you, do you promise to move slowly?”

She sucked in a growl. Nodded.

He let go, and she crawled forward, wincing as the hard wood bit into her knees. Her mother was going to swoon when she saw the state of the dress. And if the ton realized she’d been with Peyton…

Something fictional may just become real.

Apprehension hit, yet she showed none of it as she sat opposite him, heaving in a breath of musty air. His gaze turned downward, and she followed it to the single oar between them. She looked back up, then down again. She lunged…

He was faster.

Then he put the oar in the water, and started rowing…

Away from the shore.

“You’re going the wrong way,” she growled, gesturing to the bank. “We should be heading back to the party.”

“We’re taking a little trip.” He dipped the oar in the water so smoothly, the boat barely rocked. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”

“I have no intention of discussing anything with you.”

“You haven’t a choice.”

“You can’t do this.” She glared at him. “This is… this is…”

“I believe kidnapping is the word you’re looking for.”

Oh. My. Goodness.

“You’re kidnapping me?”

“It would appear so.”

Her stomach lurched as Priscilla’s words returned. Deeper. Darker. Lord Peyton was not as he seemed.

Who was this man?

He leaned forward. “We have much to discuss, and since you are evading me, I need you where you can’t escape.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape. I was simply strolling. Rapidly. Away from you.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

She cringed. “Fine, I was fleeing, but I wasn’t leaving the country.” At least not yet. “We would have talked eventually.” A year. Maybe two. Three at the most.

“How long were you planning on avoiding me?”

“Just enough time to formulate a plan regarding our… situation.”

Fierce intelligence burned in his eyes, amidst indisputable challenge. Then a single command. “Explain.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Really?” He dipped the oar again, propelling them faster. “I think you’ve led the entire ton to believe we’re betrothed.”

She paused.

“Perhaps it is what you think.”

His lips twitched. “If you are unaware, typically the groom is involved in this process. In fact, he generally makes the offer.”

“So accepting an imaginary offer is generally frowned upon?”

“Quite.”

“If I had known you wanted a say in matters, it would have been easier from the beginning.”

“Lady Emma,” he warned.

“Yes, Lord Peyton?” she said innocently.

At his hard look, she sighed. She glanced toward the gently lapping water, the now peaceful current at stark contrast with the storm-lashed waves of her life. “This isn’t my fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“Constance Welleby, really. And Betty Thompson. And the Carlyle sisters. Really, if we’re being honest, the entire ton bears responsibility.”

“Is that so?” he drawled.

“I never meant for anyone to believe we were betrothed. When a friend jested about such an arrangement, I, in a lighthearted fashion, made a comment about it being true. Which would have been fine, except Constance Welleby overheard. She then told Betty Thompson, who told–”

“The Carlyle sisters,” he guessed. “Who told the entire ton.” He sat back on the hard side, his gaze contemplating. He was far more intelligent than the world realized.

“They should have known better,” she forced out. “As you and I both know, I cannot utter a coherent word to you.”

The briefest spark of amusement flashed in his eyes. “You may not be aware, Lady Emma, but you are speaking to me right now. In fact, I do believe this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“Technically we are not speaking face to face. We are sitting on a boat. It really is quite different.”

“Perhaps we should bring the boat whenever we wish to converse.”

“It would be quite helpful.”

He chuckled lowly, and Priscilla tried not to stare. It was surreal, joking and jesting when the man literally held her life in his hands. Yet something about him enraptured her. He was always handsome, but when he smiled, the entire world brightened.

She cleared her throat. This was a serious matter, one that could easily capture her in a true betrothal.

She ignored the unfathomable emotions the thought elicited.

His voice was softer as he continued, “I understand how such a mistake occurred. Did it happen at the party?”

Uh-oh.

“Not quite.”

“Yesterday?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He visibly tightened. “When exactly did this misunderstanding take place?”

She murmured the answer.

“Three days?” he guessed.

She repeated herself, only slightly louder.

“Three weeks?”

Another lowly muttered “No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve only been gone for three months. The ton couldn’t possibly think we were betrothed for that long. If so, it would be extremely difficult to en–”

“Yes.”

He froze. Opened his mouth. Closed it. “We’ve been betrothed for three months?”

She swallowed. Nodded.

He stared at her. “Do you know what this means?”

A ticket to America. One way. On a log.

He shook his head. “Please tell me you haven’t arranged the wedding breakfast. Please tell me you haven’t had the wedding breakfast.”

She narrowed her eyes. He didn’t have to make marrying her sound so dreadful. “I’m afraid it’s too late. We had it all, with an ape standing in as proxy. Fortunately, no one noticed the difference.”

He gritted his teeth. “Are you so certain you want to taunt me? After all, I have kidnapped you.”

She stiffened. “You will release me at once.”

“I will not.”

“You will.”

“We’re not done.”

“Yes, we are.”

He leaned forward. “Not even close.”

The old Emma would have shriveled and surrendered, agreeing with a barely audible murmur. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, stuck up her nose and turned away.

“Do not pretend you cannot speak to me. We just had a full conversation.”

She sat up taller. “I changed a lot in the past three months.”

Calmness infused her, amidst the realization of how true it was. A false betrothal may have given her power, yet she no longer needed it. Whatever society believed, she was fierce all on her own.

Yet he was also far different than people believed. “And so have you,” she murmured. “Unless you have always hidden your true self.”

Golden specks blazed in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low, powerful. “The point is we never agreed to a betrothal.”

She shrugged lightly. “You didn’t not agree to it.”

He gazed at her incredulously. “If one does not agree upon a betrothal, it is inherently not agreed upon.”

She sniffed. “That’s one way of viewing it.”

“That’s the only way of viewing it!” He narrowed his eyes, piercing her with a glare that would have made a man nervous.

She fought the urge to smile, as he ran a hand through his thick locks. Pure power infused her. It was a rare and heady feeling, this control, this strength.

Only, he had his own power.

And when he edged forward, far too close and yet not close enough, surrounding her with the deep sent of amber and spice, it was readily apparent.

She tensed, first in uncertainty, then in defiance. Peyton always triggered intense emotions: nervousness, excitement, satisfaction. She needed to end this conversation and escape the watery cage. “I will take care of everything.”

Suspicion burned in his eyes. “What does that mean?”

She took a deep breath of courage and slid closer. The boat rocked gently under the redistributed weight. “You will not be tied to me for long. I never actually said we were betrothed, and while an arrangement may be viewed the same, it is an inherently different body. I will dispel the rumors, and all will be well.”

He showed no emotion. “If you think it will be that easy, you are very much mistaken. By the number of congratulations I received, the entire ton is expecting an invitation to the nuptials within the week.”

“You know how society is. They will talk for a few days, then the newest scandal will take over. Not that we’ll have a scandal.” She waved her hand. “I’ll just explain it was never certain, and when you returned we mutually decided to end the arrangement.” She shrugged. “It happens all the time. Just last week, a lady broke her betrothal because the groom had become unsuitable.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “How did he become unsuitable?”

“He had a little disagreement with an alligator.”

He stared at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” She nodded. “Fell into a lake full of them. Don’t worry, he survived. But he is not in a position to get married.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re suggesting I wrestle an alligator.”

She looked down, but the sides of her lips quirked up. “Of course not. Where would we find an alligator, anyway? Although in the country…”

He glared.

She smiled. “Besides, I like you far too much.” She stopped. She had not meant to admit that. “What I meant is no one should fall into an alligator-infested lake. My poorly conveyed point is that betrothals do end, and alligators need not be involved.”

“And you are planning on ending this betrothal?”

She shot her head up. “Of course! Did you think I was doing this to trap you into marriage?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

She frowned. His assumption was valid. With his position, power and wealth, he was considered one of the prime targets of the ton. Matchmaking mamas and their daughters had been luring him down the path of wedlock ever since he came of age.

“My goodness, no! I would never, I mean, how horrible.”

“Horrible?” He sat up taller.

“What a wretched idea.”

“I do say.”

“Really, I’d rather marry the ape.”

“Enough!” he bellowed.

She blinked at him. “I promise you, my lord, I have no intention of trapping you into marriage.”

He studied her, yet the anger in his eyes was gone, replaced with confusion. “Then why keep up the ruse? I can see how the original confusion occurred, yet you actively encouraged it for months.”

“I-I–” Her eyes darted to the left and right. Now would be a good time for a fish to leap out of the water with the perfect excuse. Or an alligator.

She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure how to dispel the rumors without creating more talk. But I did plan to find a way before you returned.”

“Is this the part where you say it’s my fault for returning?”

“So good of you to take responsibility.”

“Emma,” he warned.

She pressed on, “There was no grand scheme, I assure you.”

He did not appear assured.

“As I said, I shall dispel the rumors immediately, in a simple and unemotional manner. By the time we move on to other suitors, no one will remember we were once linked.”

“And you are certain this has nothing to do with wanting a real betrothal?”

She did not plan to hesitate. To consider. To imagine, What if? “Of course not,” she rushed out. “I have no interest in actually being betrothed to you, even if you are quite extraordinary.” She closed her eyes. “Did I say extraordinary?”

“You did.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Handsome. Intriguing. A bit delicious. “Infuriating. Frustrating. Completely unsuitable.”

He peered at her. “Are you searching for a match, Lady Emma?”

She looked down, even as her face heated like a fireplace. “Of course I am searching for a match. My parents have made that excruciatingly clear to every eligible lord from London to the moon.”

“Yet you have no desire to be with…” His voice lowered. “The most extraordinary lord in London?”

“Not at all. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you. You’re a pleasant enough fellow. Well, at least mediocre. I wouldn’t say you’re below average…much.” What in blazes was she saying?

“How kind of you to say.”

“You’re going to make someone a very wonderf… suitable… er, husband.”

“I’ve never been so flattered in all my life.”

She cringed.

“I’m not so certain I believe all that, Lady Emma.” His fingers flexed on the oar. His voice came out smooth, like the surface of the now calm waters. “What are you looking for in a match?”

“Someone less…. extraordinary.” She closed her eyes, opened them. “Actually, I already have a lord in mind.”

“You cannot be serious.” And if she saw something akin to disappointment light his eyes, surely she imagined it.

She smiled. “I am. So, you needn’t worry. Now that that’s settled, I suggest we return to the party, where we can announce a mutual and amicable end to the arrangement. The whole matter will be resolved tonight.”

“You are underestimating the harshness of the ton .” His gaze had turned somber, his tone low. “There will be confusion – and suspicion – about so long a betrothal and so quick a dismissal. Especially since even you are confused over what you want.”

“I know what I want.” Yet even to her, the words rang false.

“Truly?” he leaned forward. “You are not curious about the possibility of a match between us?”

No. Not really. Definitely not. Zero percent.

Well…

But it was impossible. As she’d told Priscilla, she wanted a love match, with a man who wanted to change the world as much as she did. Even if Peyton showed interest, it would be because of her suitability, not true emotions. She needed to tell him plainly and concisely, so the matter would be closed. “The ape was a better option.”

Perhaps that was a little too blunt.

He gaped at her, and she blushed deeply. “First, I can’t say a word around you, and now I can’t stop myself from saying the wrong words. I would not rather marry an ape, Lord Peyton. They are entirely too hairy.”

“Lucky for me,” he said dryly.

“I was just pointing out how very unsuitable we are for each other.” Her gaze dropped to his lips. “You don’t affect me,” she murmured.

A heaviness formed in the air, thick as the English fog. Her gaze sharpened, her senses honed on the man before her.

“I think you are more affected than you admit.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said to his lips. Yet her chest rose and fell deeply, as stirrings of something more substantial than simple lust swirled in the air. “You don’t affect me at all.” She pushed forward to emphasize her point.

The entire boat pitched.

“Do you think to escape me by dumping us both into the water?” As the boat swayed perilously, he tried to steady it, yet it careened to the side, crashing into a small alcove of thorns and branches. It jerked to a sudden halt, clutched by the thick emerald plants.

The oar slipped into the murky water with a splash.

Oops.

“We’re trapped,” she breathed, as ramifications of her ill-fated plan swirled. A man could withstand a slew of mistresses, but a simple whiff of scandal could damage a lady’s prospects forever. Most importantly, it could sabotage the influence she used to further her causes. “What if we can’t get out? They’ll send out a search party and–”

“It’s all right, Lady Emma.” His voice was soft, warm. “All will be well.”

She looked into eyes filled with understanding, empathy. She took a deep breath.

He searched the surroundings, pointed to a large oak. “A branch can serve as an oar. As for the betrothal, I’m certain we can find a mutually beneficial agreement.”

She looked at him carefully. “You don’t plan to ruin me?”

“Ruin you?” Clear surprise laced his voice. “Of course not. Is that what you thought?”

She nodded. Navigating the rough waters of possible scandal was a necessary evil for every lady. “I thought you would tell everyone I created the story to entrap you. It might not ruin me in the traditional sense, but the scandal would be… tremendous.”

“I have no plans to ruin anyone,” he promised. “I am frustrated, of course, and have not yet decided what to do. Yet inescapable scandal was never a goal.”

Calmness, and strength, returned. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course.”

The boat had quieted, yet instead of arguing more, she just…

Stayed.

It felt so right, being close to the man who ruled her dreams for so long. His scent enveloped her, beckoning her, tantalizing her, tempting her.

When he was the source of all that was wrong, why did his presence feel so right? “I prefer you to the ape,” she said quietly.

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Most kind of you, my lady.”

She bit her lower lip, even as her eyes drifted to his. “I-I–” She edged closer.

And just before she reached his most sensual lips, managed to stop.

What was she thinking? What was she doing ? Had she actually contemplated kissing him? Her mind swirled, her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She couldn’t succumb to her feelings, no matter how extraordinary he was. She may slip and share something about her true motivation for keeping the betrothal. She may mention the social action guild.

And if someone came upon them, the betrothal could become all too real.

There had to be an escape. She surveyed the surroundings, her gaze catching on a nearby wall of vine-covered trees. If she could grab the branches, she could crawl her way around the alcove. It would be tricky in her gown, yet she had spent her childhood ascending trees in the country. The brush on that side was lower, and she should be able to walk back to the house. Of course, if she wasn’t careful, she would plunge into the water.

It was worth the risk.

Peyton was staring as if he could read the entire plan in her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” She edged toward the front of the boat.

“Emma.” His low voice held unmistakable warning.

“Hmm?”

“Emma!”

She leapt.

She landed vertically against the wall of vines. Peyton lunged to the edge of the boat, but his grasp fell short. Sharp branches scraped her skin, their pointy edges thick with thorns. She scrambled against the vines for a handhold, even as she slid down its slick surface. Her feet dangled inches above the water.

Gasping, she reached out blindly. She caught a thin yet sturdy branch, clutched it as it dug into her palm. She caught another with her other hand, then used the thin ledge as a precarious perch under her feet. She closed her eyes, heaving in breaths of relief.

Peyton clearly didn’t share it. “Grab my hand!” he commanded.

“I’m fine.” she called, even as the branches creaked ominously. “I’m going to return to the party. I suggest you do the same.”

Heavy footsteps sounded as he moved restlessly in the boat, like a caged lion ready to pounce, somehow managing to keep his balance even as it rocked. He stepped on the edge. “I’ll send us both into the water if I jump.”

“Don’t do that,” she called, even as she continued on the pathway to freedom. “Either we’ll drown, or my mother will see what I’ve done to my dress, in which case we will wish we’d drowned. So really, no winner in that scenario.”

“Are you seriously jesting right now?” he growled.

“It would appear so.” She released the branch and quickly clutched another. Then she moved her foot, the other hand, and the other foot, slowly and methodically edging toward the bank. She couldn’t see Peyton, yet energy sizzled in the air between them.

The bank came closer and closer. She was almost there. She took a deep breath, and with one final burst of strength, pushed herself forward. She was free!

She held in the yell of triumph, even as she quickly ascended the low border. She turned back to Peyton.

He stood tall, making no move to follow. Yet his expression was thunderous.

She forced a smile. “No drowning and no soggy clothing. I call it a victory.”

He narrowed his eyes.

She took a step back. “I hate to escape a kidnapping and run, but I can’t talk right now. I will take care of everything, I promise.” His expression hadn’t changed. “I will see you later. Or not.” She turned and fled.

She hurried back around the lake, hesitating only briefly to ensure Peyton freed himself from the alcove. He’d done that and more. He was almost ahead of her, navigating the water with ease as he paddled with a thick branch as a makeshift oar. She raced back to the hall and straight to her mother and aunt, where she begged a headache. She then dragged them – almost literally – outside, where they waited, seemingly endlessly, for their carriage to be brought. It was not until she reached the safety of the plush seats that she took a breath of relief.

It was short-lived.

“What is this?” Her mother picked up a folded piece of paper with a white gloved hand. She unfolded it, darting her eyes back and forth as she scanned its contents. Her lips curved into a slow, wide smile.

Uh-oh.

The countess showed her aunt the letter.

Then she smiled.

Double uh-oh.

She forced a smile. “Who is it from?”

“Someone special,” her mother replied.

“Very special,” her aunt added.

There was no way Peyton managed to get a letter in the carriage.

Unfortunately, no one told him that.

“It’s from Peyton,” squealed the most proper countess. “He’s asked to come tomorrow. Of course, we will respond with a positive immediately.” Her smile turned dazzling. “It will be the perfect time to discuss wedding plans.”

Perhaps she hadn’t escaped after all.